


Winging It

by KyloTrashForever



Series: Oneshots [44]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Bartender Ben Solo, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, I dont think it means what you think it means, Misunderstandings, POV Alternating, Pranks and Practical Jokes, and then doubly takes care of sober rey in the morning, ben takes care of drunk rey at night, you keep using that word rey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:34:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23087851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyloTrashForever/pseuds/KyloTrashForever
Summary: “Okay,” Ben says stupidly. “I can just drive you home.”He tells himself that this is fine. He tells himself that he’s just going to drive this pretty girl home, and then drop her off, and hewon’tbe the creep who tries to get her number after she’s just had a shitty night.He tucks her into the passenger seat of his car, ignoring the way she giggles when he buckles her in, looking up at him with those wide, innocent eyes and that dimpled grin that makes his skin warm. “I’m Rey,” she says matter-of-factly, “and you’re pretty.”She’s still grinning, still looking at him like some sort of knight in shining armor—and he offers his name back to her as she starts to repeat it over and over like a little song.He’s pretty sure he’s going to hell for this.In which Rey orders an owl shot from Ben, but neither of them seem to know what she's asking for.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Series: Oneshots [44]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1321118
Comments: 106
Kudos: 930
Collections: Reylo Prompt Fills (@reylo_prompts)





	Winging It

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I put a silly spin on [this prompt](https://twitter.com/leovxm/status/1236303475362934784?s=21), because I am silly.  
> Owl Shot:
> 
> A drink order that alerts the bartender that your date isn't going well.  
> Neat: Bar Staff will escort you to your car. On The Rocks: Bar staff will call a ride for you. With Lime: Bar staff will call the police. 
> 
> Don't let this silly one shot distract from the real thing! This is a great idea!

The first thing Ben notices is how many freckles he can make out under the shitty lighting in the bar. 

There’s a spray over her nose and across her cheeks, made more prominent with the red flush of all the fruity drinks he’s been watching her toss back. Because he has been. Watching her. It’s probably creepy, in fact, Ben is almost positive that it is—but it’s something he honestly hasn’t been able to help. 

She stepped into the bar over an hour ago, announcing her presence with a laugh that can only be described as a cackle, her attention wholly fixed on the redheaded man she came in with—much to Ben’s dismay. 

She’s become something of a regular, her and the ginger with the pinched features, and Ben had thought at first that maybe they were together, although now he’s not so sure. In the weeks they’ve been dropping in at random intervals—Ben has never seen them kiss, never seen them sit too close, never even seen them _touch_ all that much really, and he’s _definitely_ been looking. 

It’s hard not to, with her wide smile and her bright eyes and her soft mouth. Ben seems to home in every time she steps into the bar, the rest of his night lost to stealing glances and trying not to feel bitterness towards her redheaded companion.

But she’s not with him now.

Now she’s hanging over his bar top, her bright eyes wide and glassy and her full mouth forming some slurred request he can’t quite make out, but it’s possible this has something to do with the way he’s watching it move.

“Pardon?”

She presses her lips together in an adorable way, almost like a pout. “I wanna order a _driiink.”_

Ben frowns, thinking it's likely she's had too many already—but he’s not quite chivalrous enough to send her away and rob himself of this brief moment of her company. 

“What can I get you?”

She bites at her lower lip, eyes flicking to his arms and then his chest before lazily climbing up and up to meet his gaze. “I need an owl shot.”

She says this like: _owl schlot—_ but Ben is too concerned with the brief flicker of hot rage because _did that prick make her uncomfortable?_ His eyes dart across the bar to where the redhead isn’t paying attention to them, lost in conversation with another man with tanned skin and dark curls, oblivious that his date—at least Ben now _assumes_ they’re together in some way—is at the bar ordering what Ben and the other bartenders refer to as the _code red_ shot. 

Girls order an owl shot when the prick they’re with oversteps, or when they feel too awkward to leave, or some other date-related catastrophe, and Ben can’t help but wonder which offense the little ginger weasel committed. 

“Would you like that neat, on the rocks, or with lime?” Her eyes widen even further, in surprise, he thinks, her little brow furrowing as if she isn’t sure. Ben leans in so that he can lower his voice. “Do you need me to call you a ride, or do you just want to get out of here?”

He doesn’t think it’s so dire that she needs the police, really, not with the way she seems so calm.

“Um…” The flush at her cheeks is spreading down her neck, and she’s shifting in an odd way like she’s uncomfortable. Probably the ginger, Ben thinks. “We can just get outta here,” she says quietly, her tone huskier than before. 

Ben thinks she definitely could use some fresh air and some cold water, and he ducks to grab for a bottle from the little mini fridge before he stalks around the bar top. He finds her arm when he’s close enough to reach out and curl his fingers around it, using the crowd to his advantage as he weaves them through the other bar patrons.

It’s cool outside, for September, and Ben immediately hands her the bottled water even though she’s shivering in the night air. “Drink this,” he tells her. She unscrews the cap dutifully, gulping down a large swallow, and he waits for her to finish to speak again. “Are you okay?”

She turns her head a little like she’s confused. “Yes?”

“You don’t feel sick or anything?”

“No…?” She slowly screws the cap back on the bottle. “I didn’t really drink _that_ much. I’m just a lightweight.”

She says this with a little giggle, and Ben can’t help but think it’s the most adorable sound he’s ever heard, and he was pretty enamored with her witch cackle. 

“Okay,” he says calmly. “Where is your car?”

“Oh.” She frowns. “I don’t have one. Armie drove us.”

 _Armie._ Ben notes the ridiculous fucking name. It sort of makes him want to punch the ginger more. “So… you _did_ need me to call you a ride?”

“Oh, I thought...” She’s biting at her lip again, the imprint of her white teeth making the swell of it look that much more red and tempting. Ben tells himself it’s the worst idea in the world to try and get a girl’s number after she ordered an owl shot. “I thought… that we could just take yours.”

Ben blinks back at her, not quite sure he’s heard her right. “Take mine?”

“Yeah… I thought… You don’t have a car?”

“No… I do.” He’s frowning now, good sense warring with temptation because it is _not_ a good idea to try and get a girl’s number after she’s ordered an owl shot. “I can just call a Lyft. I’ll even pay, if it’s a problem.”

She outright pouts now, and Ben has to suppress the urge to groan. “But you’re coming too, right?”

_Coming too…?_

“You want me to?”

She looks just as confused as he feels, and Ben blames the alcohol. “I mean… yes?”

He’s still looking at her like he’s trying to figure this out, thinking maybe she just doesn’t want to be alone right now. Maybe she just doesn’t feel safe. It wouldn’t be so bad for him to drive her home… would it? It’s just a ride. It’s _just_ a ride. He won’t ask for her number. He _won’t._

“Okay,” Ben says stupidly. “I can just drive you home.”

Her entire face lights up in a wide grin, and Ben swallows thickly as he points to her water. “Keep drinking that.”

She unscrews the cap to take another long swig, and Ben gently reaches for her elbow to steer her in the direction of the parking lot. He tells himself that this is fine, as he sends a quick text to Rose to let her know he’s taking a break. He tells himself that he’s just going to drive this pretty girl home, and then drop her off, and he _won’t_ be the creep who tries to get her number after she’s just had a shitty night. 

He tucks her into the passenger seat of his car, ignoring the way she giggles when he buckles her in, looking up at him with those wide, innocent eyes and that dimpled grin that makes his skin warm. 

“I’m Rey,” she says matter-of-factly, “and you’re pretty.”

She’s still grinning, still looking at him like some sort of knight in shining armor—and he offers his name back to her as she starts to repeat it over and over like a little song. 

“Drink your water, Rey,” he mutters, closing the door behind the adorable drunk girl. 

He’s pretty sure he’s going to hell for this.

She downs the entire bottle before they’re three blocks out, but this doesn’t stop her from chatting incessantly. 

She points out the little gold dice at his mirror, she _aws_ adorably when he tells her they were his dad’s. She says his seats are warm, she _oohs_ appreciatively when he explains they’re heated. She touches his arm over the middle console, she _hums_ prettily when she squeezes his bicep. 

It’s enough to drive a person a little mad, Ben thinks. 

He has to tell her at least three times to keep her seat belt buckled, finally conceding as she shuffles the top strap under her arm to curl her legs up into the seat. 

When she murmurs the address of her place, Ben can’t help but notice the sleepy quality of her voice. “Hey,” he attempts, shaking her shoulder a little across the car. “Don’t fall asleep. We’re almost there.”

“M’not,” she mumbles, eyes drifting closed. “Gonna get you home.”

“No,” Ben corrects. ‘I’m taking _you_ home.”

“ _Yeah_ you are,” she laughs sleepily. 

It might be an actual problem, how endearing this all is. 

By the time she’s snoring in his passenger seat, Ben is gripping the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles are white. He pointedly keeps his eyes on the road, refusing to look over at her after the initial mistake of stealing a peek and finding rucked up skirt and unbuttoned blouse.

He keeps eyes forward and hands ten and two the entire way to her place, met with an entirely fresh hell when he puts the car in park as he ponders what to do with the sleeping woman beside him. He climbs out of the car and circles around it to open her door, shaking her a little in an attempt to rouse her. 

“Rey,” he urges. “Rey, wake up.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“ _Rey.”_

She crack open an eye, her lips curling when she sees him. “It’s pretty Ben.”

“Yes,” he says through gritted teeth. “It’s pretty Ben. We’re at your place.”

This seems to jolt her a little more awake. “S’about time.” She swings her legs out of the car, trying to stand and stumbling a little as Ben puts his arms around her to catch her, an immediate regret. She presses her hands to his chest to smooth them across, smiling dazedly. “Pretty, pretty Ben.”

It takes everything in him not to groan. 

He helps her to the front door of her little bungalow with one arm around her waist, trying to ignore the way she babbles about his arms (and his hair for some reason), managing to finagle her key from her in her current state to get the front door open and take the almost nonsensical instruction to guide him to her bedroom. He doesn’t think about the cute knick knacks on her shelf, tries not to notice the posters on her wall of all the bands he likes too—keeping his focus primarily on the mission of getting her tucked into bed. Tucked into bed _alone._

He doesn’t dare try to divest her of her skirt or blouse—settling for pulling the little flats off her feet and dropping them on her floor as he lays her over her sheets. She blinks up at him dazedly as he dips a knee onto her bed, trying his best to get her covers up and over her.

“Are we in my house?”

“Yes,” he says tightly, finally managing to get her comforter out from beneath her legs.

“Is this my bed?”

He tucks her legs under her sheets. “It is.”

Her face lights up in a sleepy smile. “It totally worked.”

He stops what he’s doing as his brow wrinkles, not understanding her meaning. “What worked?”

She’s trying to get out from under the covers he’s so painstakingly tucked around her. “You’re always so pretty.”

Ben isn’t sure what to do, watching her push up to her knees. His brains short-circuits a little when her arms wind around his neck, and he dazedly wraps his hands around her wrists to pry her off. She’s strong for someone so small and someone _so drunk_ —and the resulting wrestle results in Ben somehow on his back over her bed with Rey sprawled over his chest. 

She nuzzles him there contently with her cheek, wrapping her leg over his and curling against him like a satisfied kitten as Ben stifles a groan. He holds his hands up above him, suspended in the air, because he doesn’t know what to do with them. 

“Rey,” he urges softly, letting his fingers drop to lightly grasp her shoulder. “ _Rey.”_

He is met only with the soft sounds of her snoring—the effort of their tussle seeming to have finished her off. Ben lies underneath her soft body, every muscle drawn tight with unease as he tries not to dwell on just how _soft_ she feels—staring up at her ceiling and blowing out an unsteady breath. 

It’s going to be a long night. 

* * *

Rey feels relatively well when she wakes to the morning sun peeking through her blinds, all things considered, 

She lifts her head to find empty sheets, something that confuses her a little because she _distinctly_ remembers bringing home pretty Ben (something she thinks she remembers calling him several times, much to her dismay)—and she wonders if he snuck off after the fun part, which she can’t really recall herself, also to her dismay. 

Her mouth feels too dry, her limbs too heavy, and it takes more effort than it should to swing her legs over the side of the bed in search of the bathroom. Her foot is met with something solid and _huge_ on her bedroom floor when she finally manages it, letting out a shriek or surprise briefly before she realizes just what, or rather, _who_ exactly is sleeping on her floor. 

He doesn’t stir even after she’s half-kicked him, his shoulders rising and falling steadily. His dark hair covers most of his face, but she can make out his soft mouth slightly parted in what seems to be semi-restful sleep. One of her pillows is tucked under his head, and the pink throw that rested at the end of her bed is draped over his lower half that even from here she can see is still clad in his jeans. He seems to be wearing _all_ of the clothes he wore last night. In fact, if she glances down, she notices that _she_ is still wearing all her clothes from last night as well. 

She finds this very odd, considering even through her alcoholic haze she remembers having every intention of bringing pretty Ben back to her bed. She’d even used Armie’s little trick—something she’d been wholly convinced was a bunch of bullshit, until it actually worked, that is.

She tiptoes past him towards the bathroom, quickly brushing her teeth and doing something about the mascara nightmare under her eyes before padding softly back through her bedroom and quietly climbing back onto her bed. She sits herself at the edge of the mattress, one foot tucked under her thigh as she lets the other toe at pretty Ben’s shoulder, softer this time.

It takes him a little bit to stir, his lips pressing together and his shoulders rolling as he rouses, and Rey brings up her other foot to sit cross-legged at the edge of her bed as she waits for him to come to. He rolls to his back to stretch, something that offers a delicious sliver of pale but firm skin at the hem of his shirt that creeps up his belly, a thin trail of dark hair dusting under his navel that she wants to feel under her fingertips. 

His lashes flutter open as he blinks up at her, still trying to fully wake up. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she answers, watching him stretch. 

His head turns this way and that aimlessly. “What time is it?”

“I have no idea, honestly.”

“Right.” His hands settle over his stomach as he continues to blink up at her. “How do you feel?”

She shrugs. “Alive.”

“That’s always a good sign,” he grins, pushing up from the floor to a sitting position. He’s so tall that his head is still only a little further down from hers, making it easy to make out his sheepish expression. “I hope it’s cool that I borrowed a pillow.”

“It is…” she cocks her head. “I’m just wondering why you slept on the floor.”

“Oh. I didn’t want to completely freak you out when you woke up.”

She purses her lips, gesturing her finger between them. “But didn’t we…?”

“No. _No.”_ He shakes his head vehemently. “Not even a little.”

“Oh.” It’s only mildly disappointing, she thinks. At least she doesn’t have to feel bad for not remembering. “Why not?”

He raises an eyebrow. “I don’t make a habit of fucking unconscious girls.”

It’s weird how much she likes the way he says that dirty word, and she shifts a little on the bed. “Good practice, I suppose.”

“I think so.”

“But you stayed.”

“Well… yeah. I hope that isn’t weird? I didn’t want you to wake up and accidentally kill yourself during the night. You were pretty out of it.”

“Oh.” Her brow furrows. “But we didn’t sleep together.”

“Absolutely not.”

“But… you wanted to, right?”

His mouth parts in surprise. “Is that a trick question?”

“No? I just want to make sure.”

“You want to make sure,” he echoes with confusion.

“Well, yeah. You brought me home, after all.”

“Because you asked me to.”

“So you didn’t want to?”

He presses his lips together briefly. “I didn’t say that.”

“Well? Did you?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, averting his eyes. “I wanted to bring you home. I know that makes me a creep.”

“A creep?”

“I know I shouldn’t be so into you, considering how we met.”

 _How they met…?_ She wonders if he means how drunk she got, something she didn’t even realize had happened until it completely snuck up on her. 

“I mean,” she laughs. “Obviously I don’t mind.”

“Obviously?”

“Well, you know.” She tucks a stray curl behind her ear in a nervous gesture. “Considering.”

He still looks confused. “Considering what?”

_Oh, God. He’s going to make her spell it out._

“I mean… I _did_ order the drink.”

“Exactly,” he says with a huff. “Which is why I had no business being so into you.”

Now it’s her turn to be confused. “Why is that a bad thing again?”

“I mean, here you are having just been through an ordeal, and I’m trying not to think about how incredible your legs look in that skirt.”

“Oh.” She picks at the hem of said skirt with a warmth blooming in her chest, but then the rest of what he’s said registers. “Wait. What do you mean an ordeal?”

“I mean…” He waves his hand aimlessly. “I don’t know what that ginger bastard did, but it must have been bad enough at least that you needed my help.”

 _Ginger bastard?_ She wrinkles her nose. “You mean Armie?”

He grimaces. “Yes. _Armie._ God, I could have punched him.”

“I’m so confused,” she says honestly. “Armie didn’t do anything to me?”

Ben rears back a little, looking surprised. “He didn’t?”

“No,” Rey laughs. “He would never.”

 _Or any girl, for that matter,_ she thinks amusedly.

Ben’s mouth opens and closes only to open again. “Then why did you order the shot?”

She stares at Ben like she’s trying to figure him out, nothing about their situation making sense to her anymore. “Ben,” she says carefully. “What is an owl shot?”

“You know,” he answers slowly. “Girls order when… you know.”

She shakes her head. “Humor me.”

“Girls order it when they need to get away from their date. Normally when he’s being a massive creep.”

Rey’s mouth falls open, an embarrassed flush spreading across her chest. “Oh my God.” She lets her face drop in her hands, feeling the heat creep up into her cheeks. “I’m going to _kill_ Armie.”

“That’s exactly how I felt last night,” Ben says bitterly.

“ _Ben,”_ she groans. “I’m so sorry. There’s been a mistake.”

“A mistake?”

She nods woefully, not able to look at him yet. “That is… _not_ what I thought an owl shot was.”

She can hear Ben moving on the floor, and then his hands are at her wrists to pull her hands away from her face. He’s up on his knees now, looking at her with concern. “Hey. It’s okay. What did you think it meant?”

Rey makes a face as she tries to get the words out, possibly more embarrassed than she’s ever been in her life. “Armie, he—he’s my friend by the way, or at least, _he was_ —I might actually murder him now—but he—”

“Rey.” She likes the way he pulls her hand in his, like he’s trying to soothe her. “It’s okay. Just tell me.”

She chews on the inside of her lip, breathing in deep through her nostrils. “Armie told me… that an owl shot… was a universal way of asking the bartender to sleep with you.”

Ben’s mouth falls open with shock. “What?”

“I know. I _know._ I’m terrible. I just—he knew I had _such_ a huge crush on you, and I wouldn’t ever do anything about it, and I was drinking, and he _dared_ me, and I am so fucking bullheaded when I drink, and you are just so damned _pretty_ , and I—”

It takes her by surprise when his fingers curl around her nape, and even more so when he surges upwards to press his mouth to hers. She is still for only a moment as she reconciles what’s happening, and then she sighs into it, pressing her hands to his chest to enjoy the firmness there.

He’s nearly bending her backwards with the way he curls over her, almost level with her body even though his knees rest on the _floor_ while she sits on the bed. His lips are softer than they look, and yet somehow _so firm_ against hers—and she feels the nip of his teeth before the swipe of his tongue and _oh,_ this feels good too. 

Her fingers find their way into his hair, tugging at the soft strands to try and pull him closer, her mind dizzied with sensation as he deepens the kiss. His hands slide down her throat and over her shoulders, clasping around her arms as his thumbs rub little circles there. She chases after his mouth even when he pulls away, eyes glazing over as she gives a little whimper of protest. 

“I’m sorry,” he says breathlessly, even though she has no idea what he’s sorry for. “I got carried away. I just—you said wanted me to, and I’ve wanted to do that since last night, for _weeks_ , actually, and you—”

“You wanted to kiss me before last night?”

“ _Fuck,_ yes. I thought the redhead was your boyfriend,” he grumbles.

“Armie is… definitely not my boyfriend.”

“Yeah… You were just so drunk last night, and I thought you’d just been through some sort of _ordeal,_ and I was agonizing that I probably wouldn’t even be able to ask for your _number_ without seeming like a creep.”

She bites at her lower lip. “But I wasn’t going through anything,” she says quietly. “I just wanted you.”

He’s staring at her mouth now. “Right.”

“And I’m not drunk right now.”

He swallows thickly. “You aren’t.”

“And you _know_ what I thought that shot meant.”

“Yeah,” he answers raggedly, hands sliding down her arms to encircle her a little. “Yeah, I do.”

“Ben, do you think maybe we could—?”

She can’t even get the question out before he’s on her.

Rey can’t find it in her to complain.

* * *

She feels just as soft as he thought she would. 

She tugs him up from the floor until he’s crawling over her, her tiny frame buried beneath his larger one until he’s afraid he might be crushing her.

But she isn’t complaining, no, she’s tugging him _closer._ Her mouth is soft and warm as it moves against his, and she makes this needy little sound in her throat when he touches any part of her she likes, making him want to find _every_ part of her that yields that sound. 

He touches her face, and he kisses her throat, and she arches when he wanders lower to mouth at her collarbone, tugging at his hair in a way that’s almost too hard, but still he wants _more._ She’s still wearing the skirt from last night, so it’s easy to work his hands underneath, to touch the softness of her thighs that he’s been thinking about since he first tucked her into the front seat of his car. 

She makes another sound when his fingers press against wet cotton between her legs, a groan that mirrors his own because _she’s so wet already._

He should probably be gentler, go slower, but her little tongue dips into the hollow of his ear before her teeth nibble the shell, and Ben is just _gone_ in a way he can’t ever remember being before. He hooks his finger into the side of her underwear, tugging the fabric away so that he can work his middle finger into the tight, wet heat of her. She gasps as he grinds it deep, curling it in search of that place inside that will make it that much better for her. 

She gasps when he finds it, her little fingers gripping his shirt as he draws out only to add another. She makes that same sound, the one that makes his cock ache—breathed against his ear as she tilts her hips to give him better access.

“You’re so _wet,”_ he marvels, imprinting the words into the hollow of her throat. 

“I’ve been thinking about this,” she tells him breathlessly. “About getting you back to my place.”

“What did you think about?”

“ _This_ ,” she whines, squirming when he grinds his fingers deep inside her. “You touching me. God, Ben, your _hands—”_

“My hands aren’t the only thing I want to give you,” he says roughly. “The things I’ve _thought_ about.”

“Tell me,” she sighs as he pets that sensitive place along the front wall of her cunt. 

“You’re always wearing those fucking skirts into the bar,” he grinds out. “Sometimes I think about bending you over the bar top. I think about pushing up that little skirt and fucking you right there over the wood.”

He can feel what his words do to her, feels it in the way she clenches, the way she gets _wetter._ “ _Ben.”_

“Can you come like this?” He lets his thumb find the little bud of her clit, rolling it against the sensitive bundle as she gasps with it. “I wanna feel it. Before I fuck you.”

“Just like that,” she urges raggedly. “Right _there.”_

He tugs up her skirt until he can see, wanting to watch as her cunt swallows up his fingers—stilling completely when he gets a good look at the print of her underwear.

“You’re kidding,” he laughs, taking in the pattern of little cartoon owls. 

“Hoot hoot?” She grins up at him, the action lazy for the way his fingers are still curled inside her. “I like to think of it as kismet.”

“I’ll show you kismet,” he murmurs, sliding his fingers a little deeper as she sucks in a breath. He soon forgets about the serendipitous print of her underwear, too distracted by the way he can _just_ see the way she stretches around his fingers. “I wanna taste you after,” he huffs. “I want”—he presses his fingertips against that spongy spot inside, her back bowing as a little cry escapes her—”my mouth here. After.” He flicks up his eyes so he can watch the breathless expression on her face as his thumb pets the swollen little bud of her clit. “I bet I can make you come even harder on my tongue.”

“Oh, _fuck.”_

He feels it around his fingers, when she starts to come—a trembling of her inner walls as she clenches around them, as she cinches impossibly tighter. He continues to pump his fingers in and out of her slowly even as she comes apart, stirring up the mess he's made and making slick sounds between her legs as he slides them deeper only to withdraw them completely.

He rubs through her folds to tease her clit, watching her shiver a little with aftershocks as she tugs on his shirt to bring his mouth to hers. She makes a content little humming noise in her throat as his tongue swipes across her lower lip, turning her head when he begins to wander so that his lips can trail lazily over her jaw and down her throat.

He’s licking at the little hollow above her collarbone, dipping his tongue there before kissing a path down the delicate line, still making languid circles around her clit if only to enjoy the dreamy softness of her cunt post-orgasm. His cock feels like it might burst at any moment, pressing needily against the front of his jeans and begging to be let out. “I have—in my wallet.” He finds words are a little difficult now, with the thought of his _cock_ sliding inside her in the same way that his fingers have. “I have a condom. Just let me—”

She’s tugging him back up to her mouth, shaking her head. “Birth control. Wanna feel it.”

“ _Fuck.”_

He’s tearing at her blouse so hard with one hand he might rip it, using the other to hastily shove down his jeans. He growls in frustration when the little buttons down the front of her blouse vex him, giving her a pointed look.

“Get this off if you want to keep it.”

She reaches with shaking fingers to unbutton it herself, and Ben has already moved on to her skirt. He drags it down soft thighs and shapely legs, pausing for only a moment to run his hands up the inside of them to hook his fingers in her underwear. His jeans are halfway down his legs, and his cock presses insistently against his boxer briefs, and her blouse hangs open now to _nothing_ underneath, and _fuck_ —all he can think about is feeling her tits against his tongue.

He looks up at her through his lashes, giving the little lacy scrap of her underwear a pointed tug. “You sure?”

Her mouth curls at the corners. “I know what I ordered, barkeep.”

Ben doesn’t need to be told twice.

* * *

God, his _hands._

She thinks the only thing better might be his mouth. Or maybe his hair. _Fuck,_ she hasn’t even seen his cock yet—but if the considerable bulge pressing against his boxer briefs is any indication… she might need to reorder the hierarchy of her favorites list.

It’s hard to think with the way he covers her nipple with his mouth, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, and she sort of _wants_ him to. She can’t remember a time where she was as turned on as she is right now, and she is _so_ glad pretty Ben turned out to be a gentleman, because she definitely wants to remember _this._

He mouths at the underside of her breast as she arches to pull her top the rest of the way off, and she lifts her hips as best she can to aid him in pulling her underwear over her leg before she starts to claw at his shirt. She’s breathless and impatient by the time there is nothing between them but his boxer briefs—palming his cock through the fabric as he groans against her mouth. 

“Take these off,” she urges.

He reaches for the elastic band, shoving it over his hips as her fingernails scrap him there. He makes a sound that is nearly a whine when she wraps her hands around his cock, stroking him from base to tip as his precum slicks against her palm. For a moment he just thrusts lightly into her fist, his lashes fluttering closed as a shuddered breath escapes him. 

Then he’s all wide palms and searing fingertips—pulling her thighs further apart to settle between them. She can feel him there, nudging against her entrance, and she nods urgently, her mouth tripping against his as he kisses her messily. 

Her breath catches when he starts to ease inside, deciding then and there that _this_ is definitely her favorite part. 

“ _Fuck,_ you’re tight.” His breath huffs against her jaw, labored and heavy as he pushes inside inch by inch. “You okay?”

She nods again, heavier this time, her eyes shut tight as she focuses on the wet stretch as he slides deeper inside. “Good,” she tells him through gritted teeth. “Keep going.”

And he doesn’t stop—not until she can feel his pelvis pressed warm against hers, every inch of him touching every part of her inside until there is simply no room left. He moves slow at first, a languid withdrawal and a lazy thrust back in—continuing to dip in and out at her at that same slow pace as if to savor it a little. 

But Rey doesn’t want to savor.

Right now, Rey wants to be a little _used._

She lets her fingers tangle in his hair, shifting her hips to meet his thrusts until he bottoms out, his balls heavy against her skin as his next thrust comes harder, inching her body a little further up the mattress.

“Harder,” she whispers hoarsely, pleased when he immediately obliges.

His large hands wrap around her thighs, holding her ass _just_ off the bed as he pushes up to his knees. He holds her suspended as he starts to fuck her in earnest, thrusting into her again and _again_ as she is forced to grip the sheets above her to hold on. She can feel her breasts jolting with every slap of his skin against hers, can see the way he watches it happen with his lip trapped firmly between his teeth. 

He makes some strangled sound when she slides one hand down her front to let her fingers tease at her clit, still so sensitive from the way he touched her and closing her eyes as she feels another orgasm just there at the edge. 

His pelvis hits against her ass with actual _force_ now—and every thrust drives him deep enough to have her seeing stars, but it’s _so good._ He brings her knees up to his chest, wrapping his arm around them to hold her in place as he fucks into her roughly. 

“You’re getting tighter,” he says through gritted teeth. “Are you close?”

She nods breathlessly. “So close.”

“Can I come on you? Wanna see it.”

Her eyes are still shut tight even as she shivers with his filthy request, nodding dazedly as she works the sensitive little button of her clit. She feels the pressure building until it’s nearly bursting—swirling her fingers feverishly as it climbs higher, burns _hotter_. Her mouth falls open and back bows, the delicious friction of his cock pounding inside her only taking her to new heights as her body begins to shake and stars bloom in her vision. 

Ben makes a sound that can only be described as an actual _growl_ as she comes apart, holding inside her for a moment as her cunt flutters around him, the fullness making it that much _better._

It’s only when she is still that he pulls out completely, his hand wrapping around his cock to work himself roughly as his mouth covers hers in a bruising kiss. His breathing is erratic as if he can’t quite catch it, and she can feel the head of his cock rubbing just under her navel as the _slap slap slap_ of skin rings in the air with the furious pace that he’s touching himself.

His muscles tense under her wandering hands just before he lets out a deep groan, and then there is a heavy warmth that coats her skin as it splashes across her belly. Ben slides his cock through the mess he’s made with a lazy tilt of his hips, breath still huffing laboredly through his nostrils as his fingertips ghost over her ribs and under her tits and higher still until his hands cup her jaw. 

He kisses her unhurriedly, tongue dipping inside to tease at hers briefly before nipping at her lower lip, and it makes it hard to focus on the sticky mess he’s made of her belly when he’s kissing her like that. He blinks down at her with a sated grin as he draws back, his thumb sliding against her jaw as his weight settles over in a way that is not at all unpleasant.

“You made a mess,” she faux-grumbles.

His lips quirk at the corners. “Maybe I was just setting myself up for sharing a shower.”

“I _do_ appreciate a man with a plan,” she laughs.

“Do you have somewhere to be today?”

She shakes her head. “Not at all.”

“You do now.”

She grins. “Is that so?”

“Yes. The whole weekend, I think. Better clear your schedule.”

“This sounds like premeditated kidnapping,” she says seriously. “Maybe I need that owl shot after all.”

Ben is full-on-smiling now as he ducks to brush his lips against hers. “Honestly, I think the next time you want to fuck _this_ bartender—you should just ask.”

Rey laughs quietly under her breath as she meets his kiss, thinking to herself there is definitely merit in this direct approach. “Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Come say hi on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/kylotrashforever)!  
> I made a [Twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/KTF_Reylo), come follow me!


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